Kiss With A Fist
by A Fine Frenzy
Summary: A possible future for two characters from the Twilight Saga. Rated M, just in case.


**I'm sorry to my (no doubt, few) readers that have waited so long, for just an update on one of my stories. I truly am very sorry. This story isn't marking a 'comeback' or anything; it's just that the burning desire to write finally let itself out in something that I could make understandable and Twilight-related. The beginning probably makes no sense and the ending is rushed, but I do hope that you like this story. I do not own Twilight. **

The garden was beautiful, no doubt about that. It was my personal oasis, something that had always been there. There were these beautiful lilac flowers right alongside these blood-red roses; the stark contrast between the two was what caught my eye. The lilac flowers, that looked so beautiful from afar, were suddenly very ugly. I recognised the flower, English Weed, and it was slowly strangling the magnificent roses to death. My heart grew cold, and then I lunged. I was going to save the flowers. Just because no one could do it for me, didn't mean I couldn't save something so pure and so stunning, I silently wished that I had managed to save them.

The wind blew through the treetops, making the leaves wave madly through the air. They reflected my mood. Wild and out of control. I didn't want this; this wasn't the life I dreamed of. I hadn't imagined a life spent as a housewife, in a house I was beginning to hate. This was not me; this was the sick side effect of Mike Newton's controlling ways. I should be free to roam and wonder. Laughing with friends, being able to spend money on those absolutely _divine _Prada shoes and being free to express myself in whatever I wanted to. I wanted to go out for a coffee with my best friend and discuss that horrendous dress trash bag dress that Rihanna had worn.

Instead, I stared at the pale blue walls of my home dreaming of warm, moss green eyes and bronze hair. They plagued even my dreams and I was left wondering whether I could ever forget them. I doubted it. How could I? He'd have fallen for me, I was sure, if I'd ever had the chance to woo him. But I was teenager and Mike Newton, that dog, was the most popular boy in school, he was a jock, had a blonde hair and was going to make it big. Or so he had said. He was the one who had captured my interest and fleeting attention. He was the focus of all my desires and I was determined to capture him.

Now look where I was. In fact look at where he was? In an accounting company that would have fired him without thought, if only he hadn't bagged the biggest account in the company. He had been excited that night. So excited, he was almost happy. But, of course, I had done something 'wrong'. Of all things, I had forgotten to put the towels on the rack in the bathroom. I almost felt like Julia Roberts in Sleeping with the Enemy. I had wondered that night, as I lay on the floor, how I had ended up living like this. Couldn't I see that, behind the romantic gestures and poetic words lay a man with a twisted and disturbed mind? Couldn't I see the maniacal glint in his eyes that I saw so often now? Maybe I was too caught up in the happiness of it all. It was whirlwind romance; I never thought to question his slightly obsessive doings. Like how he'd gotten _so _angry when I'd accidentally left the light on, one night, And when I'd put the towel off-centre in the bathroom.

It just added to his personality, his charm, and his quirks. If only I'd seen the anger, behind the cool façade. He didn't try hiding it anymore though, after all what difference would it make? There was no need to keep up the act, because he had me. And I was hopelessly in love with a man who probably didn't even know what the word meant. After his outbursts, he had _always _said sorry, the little charms and flowers always made me talk to him. The soft, sweet kisses broke down any defence I had. Those piercing, blue eyes saw everything. And so I was helpless.

Oh, if only I wasn't such a naïve, little girl. I was stupid to think I could be happy with a man who couldn't be happy with anybody. He was self-centred, I saw that now, and everything always led back to him. How it would affect _his _career, and how it would affect people's perceptions of _him, _but didn't I want to make _him _happy? Slowly I had been restricted to the house, so I wouldn't be 'a cause of embarrassment', any control I had had over my life promptly disappeared.

I was startled out of my wonderings with the bang of the front door. I raced to get into the house. Mike didn't like it if I wasn't inside when he came home. In fact, now that I think about it, he didn't like a lot of things.

There couldn't be any clothes on the floor, the dishes had to be cleaned _immediately _after dinner, I could not visit him at work, I _had _to wear clothes that weren't too fitting, or short or sexy at all. God forbid I ever feel beautiful.

I hurried inside, and grabbed his coat. I grabbed his shoes and put them in the _centre _of the shoe rack. God knows what would happen if I didn't. I snatched up his slippers and put them in front of his favourite blue and black arm chair. I switched on the TV, and rushed to put it on the news. If there was one thing Mike loved, it was his news. That was the only thing that he ever put on. I heard him stomping down the stairs as I plated up his dinner. My eyes widened I need to speed up otherwise his food wouldn't be down when he sat down. I quickly wiped up the small fingerprints on the plate had the thing down on the table just before he sat down

I struggled to rein in my breathing. Mike hated loud breathing. I knew this because I had experienced his anger at the occurrence of this terrible 'offence'. Offence my ass. Loud breathing? That is the stupidest and most ridiculous excuse Mike had ever used to… hit me. He knew that I knew that all this was just to make sure that he feel respected. So that he could feel like a 'man'. Well I got news for you buddy; real men don't lay hands on women!

My heart started speeding up as he took the first bite. I hoped to God that there was enough salt, enough seasoning. I started to mentally rewind the cooking of the soup. I tried, in vain, to remember the exact amount of each ingredient I had put in. It was ok though, he continued eating without a word. I stood by his side, in case he needed to have his mouth wiped. I was expected to wait until after dinner to eat. At first, my stomach used to rumble. Mike hated stomach rumbling. But, in the end, I had managed to control my stomach. Just like, he controlled me.

I hated feeling so degraded, so used and so judged, but, I would probably also feeling dead so I pushed the feelings away. As I stood there, my mind wondered. Would it really be all that bad if I was dead? It would be better than the constant fear, wouldn't it?

There was a scrapping of a chair, and I was instantly standing at attention. Yes, that's right, I was _standing at attention. _Mike said he liked it because it showed discipline. I think he liked it because he thought that, finally, someone was giving him some respect. I don't think he realised that every minute of everyday I was, through my mind, shouting the worse profanities I knew, at him.

He turned to me, his steely blue eyes, so different to the ones I had fallen in love, piercing straight through me, and staring directly into my soul. It was this quality, the one that made me feel so bare and so certain that he could read my mind that had brought me back to him, time and time again. I waited for him to say something, or to yell for the speck of dust that lay right beside his plate. I hoped he hadn't noticed that. I waited for the searing pain, not only to my body but to my battered, and almost non-existent, dignity. I moistened my dry lips, I wasn't sure if he was in a bad mood.

But he said nothing. I frowned in confusion and then slumped in relief. Almost. I remembered just in time that Mike hated slumping. It was a good thing too because he whirled around. I grinned inwardly. It was a test. That son of a bitch had set a test, and I had passed. With flying colours. I almost felt like laughing, but Mike hated to be embarrassed_ and _the sound of my laughter. I hadn't laughed in two years because of that.

Of course, these past two years there hasn't been much that I _haven't _sacrificed. Lately I was wondering if there was anything left to sacrifice. To give up. I stared into the living room. I sighed; of course, there was something to give up. There was always something to give up. And that was the only reason I was still here.

My eyes filled with tears, I was weak. I wondered if all women were, whether this was the epitome of a normal marriage. I shook the thought away. Not every woman was so willing to follow their husband's order. There were, I reminded myself, that _weren't _weak willed and so easily swayed. In addition, most women had more than ten brain cells, I bitterly reminded myself. Most women, I continued on with my mental rant, wouldn't be stupid enough to believe him. Most women would, in fact, run in the other direction. But the again, most women are smart.

I thought about going to the police station, I knew I wouldn't go. Just because he abused me, didn't mean I didn't, for some strange and obviously twisted reason, still love him. But I still pondered the thought. The relish that would fill me if I could watch him walk into one of the jail cells. But I knew what he would do. He would turn to me, with that look in his eyes and mouth 'I love you' and then I would break… even if I knew he didn't mean it. I couldn't resist. He was my drug. No matter how much he hurt me I would always run back. And he would stare at me like he didn't seem me.

Over the two years we had been _actually _married I had always managed to, in my worst moments, make myself believe that we could be a happy normal couple with wonderful little children running around the house, However, that shit would just _not_ happen if Mike continued to be his usual self and completely ignore the fact that I lay just centimetres away from him every night, night after night. In fact, his aloof attitude was beginning to wear down my self-esteem. Wasn't I pretty enough? Didn't my body attract him anymore? Because, before marriage it seemed to attract him _a lot. _

My eyes began to water. Children. The one thing that could have gotten me through this hell, and I had no chance of ever being able to experience that happiness. They would have their father's eyes, I was sure of it. And they would have been able to disarm me, and trick me into doing anything they wanted. But I wouldn't mind, because I would love them. With all my heart. I would love the cleaning up, the work that would be required because it would give me something to do, give something to strive towards. The happiness of my babies. My non-existent babies, of course. I let out a whoosh of air. It was too late for thinking about what could have been, if I hadn't cursed myself to this half-life.

I looked outside the window one winter morning. It was dreary, but this was Forks. I touched the side of my face of lightly. It had been a while between outbursts, so I suppose this was expected. But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt. I wished, for the millionth time, that this wasn't life. I wished I possessed the imagination that could take me somewhere else. But I didn't.

I sat in the dark, cursing at my stupidity. How didn't hear him coming? I glanced up at where the English Weed and the roses resided. I realised that I hadn't been in time to save roses…

I felt stupid for thinking it, but I had kinda hoped that, in the even of my death, Mike would at least have the decency to put up a marker for the grave. Just my name would have done but of course, it was not to be. I never got my wish to be a parent either, but now that i have all the time in the word to think about it, it probably wasn't one of my vest ideas. Today, when I think about my death, I wish t hadn't been so… pathetic. In the end, I had given up. I conceded defeat to Mike fucking Newton. The dead roses had been the last straw. Two weeks after that incident, I was floating up to heaven. The one good thing that came out of it all was that I, Jessica _Stanley_, was finally happy.

**This story wasn't written with the intent to offend anyone who has experienced this type of abuse at the hands of someone they love. I haven't ever experienced it, so I don't know how it affects people. Thanks for reading and I hope you review. **


End file.
